Call of the Wild
by AlmaraKasada
Summary: Kinzie never wanted to be the Dragonborn, and when a dangerous and seductive Forsworn offers her a life in the wilds of the Reach, she can't refuse, even if she knows the peril of her choices
1. Prologue

**A/N** : _Hi all! Well, this is going to be one of those super sweet love stories with a protagonist whom I love for right now. It revolves around a sort of forbidden romance/star-crossed lovers deal with two OCs, one being the Dragonborn and the other being a Forsworn. It should be cute, super cheesy, and hopefully a tiny bit humorous. I have no idea where this story will go and I will tend to be a bit of a messy writer, but this is only a first draft! Review for me and I'll give you a shout out in my author's notes, thanks!_

Seeing me now, tied up and in a cage in the middle of Markarth and slowly being lowered in to the filthy water outside of the mine; spitting curses at all the passersby and beating my shoulder into the steel surrounding me until blood began to color the water, you'd probably say I was just another Forsworn, raised to be wild. But what you would know was that I wasn't always a Forsworn. And, let's just be completely honest, when you're hunted and caged like an animal, who can really blame you for acting like a beast?

But I was telling you about me. Let's go back to my childhood. And no, this isn't going to be some long and dull sob story about how I was all on my own after my parents disowned me and all I had was a single dog to protect me and keep me warm. And that dog doesn't die in some horrible, traumatizing accident. And that accident didn't scar me for my entire life and force me into fighting for some cause that now is all that matters to me. There was no trauma in my life outside that of any others. I was bullied in our tiny school as a kid, sure, but I got over it, like any other kid. My parents adored me and my siblings, and all members of my family are very much alive right now. I did have a fox, however, but she ran off when I was a kid. Probably to find a mate. I know that _sounds_ like some sort of excuse, but when that animal went into heat, it was all we could do to keep her in the yard. And one day she ran away like the horny little beast she was.

In all seriousness, I was raised in Skyrim on a farm. It wasn't our farm, but the owners were wealthy enough to live in the safety of a walled city. We were able to live in the farmhouse. When I turned fifteen, my father was the one who took me out hunting. I was the oldest child and, even though I was a girl, he always was proud that I learned so quickly. I was his only daughter, but he roughed me up and made me grateful for the land we had. I became a skilled archer. And then one day I up and left.

And that's all you really need to know about who I was. Yes, that wild, insane Forsworn you're about to let drown was once a sweet little Breton farmer's daughter. So moral of this story is…well, I really can't say quite yet. I haven't learned shit yet. And that's why I'm here. Maybe if I had actually _learned_ something in this whole time, I wouldn't be caught up in this whole mess.

I suppose, though, that you're here for my story. Fine, whatever. I supposed that it's the least I can do before this farm girl drowns. I ought to let you know exactly who I am.

My name is Kinzie Vellenward, and I am, unfortunately, the Dragonborn.


	2. Chapter 1

Let's go back a few months. I suppose that's where this all really begins.

I'm not really proud of this, but I had been a bit too impulsive at one point after I left the farm and joined the Thieves' Guild. Can you really blame me, though? I mean, holy hell, when a, hm, generally good-looking man with a honey tongue comes up to you and whispers in your ear, you really got to just do whatever he wants. Within reason, of course. (Although, at that time, "within reason" was a pretty broad category for me).

So yes, I suppose that I wasn't completely innocent when the guards found me and locked me up with that Lokir fellow. But, hey, we made quite the team getting out of there.

If only Lokir hadn't stolen that gods forsaken horse, we would have gotten out of Skyrim. But, no. Suddenly, we were surrounded. And not just by petty town guards, but by what ought to have been the whole bloody Imperial Legion!

To be honest, I haven't the faintest idea what happened next because someone (and I won't name names) can't keep a freaking horse steady and the old mare reared up and knocked me off the back. I landed with the harsh thud that probably left quite the lump on my head. Either way, it was hard enough to knock me out.

I awoke what could have been days later based on how dry my lips were. I was afraid to move them even to breathe. Surely, they would crack open and bleed if I tried to speak.

"Hey, you're awake," someone said in the strongest Nord accent I've ever heard. I looked up to see the shining example of a stereotypical Nord sitting across from me, in Stormcloak armor, and his hands bound. It was at that moment that I realized that my hands were also bound.

Son of a bitch, I thought struggling, seeing if my hands could somehow slip out of the knot.

"Why, by the nine, you're a girl," the Nord laughed.

"What are you talking about?" I asked.

"Well, you were all slumped over and your hair's so short that you looked like a young lad," the Nord chuckled.

"They cut her hair when she tried to strangle the guard with it back in Riften," the man sitting next to him whom I now realized was Lokir replied to the Nord.

"Is that right? A shame to see such a…weapon taken like that," the Nord continued to tease.

I scrunched up my face and tried to think of a good comeback. "Yeah, well…they're going to kill you soon so what's it matter?"

"I wouldn't be so cocky, Breton. They'll kill us all soon."

I scowled. For some reason (I blame the head injury, but I've had others say it's my arrogance. Fuck them, though) I was not afraid to die. I knew my family would be upset when they knew I was dead. But there was nothing I could do to help them now. I hadn't seen them in months and they still thought I was out in Winterhold becoming a bard.

"This can't be happening," Lokir whined.

"Shut up and grow a spine," I growled at him.

"And what makes you so brave, Breton? Not everyone is as ready to give up as you are," the Nord scolded me.

I rolled my eyes and found the man next to me looking at me with curiosity and maybe distaste. He probably would have said something had he not been gagged. I recognized him as Ulfric Stormcloak, and the only reason I would ever had known who he was is because Windhelm happens to be where I grew up and I've had several meetings with the Jarl, mostly to complain about the racism directed towards me. I'll admit, I've gotten a bit hostile at times with him. But he's a racist old man, and probably deserves it. Probably. Long story short, I'd be surprised if he remembered me, but he did, at one point, know me very well.

I scoffed and shook my head. I suppose seeing him made the situation all that more real. And it made me mostly angry. My responses to upsetting situations are very "unusual" as my father says "for a girl." Basically, I get angry, I hit things, and I never cry. Crying's for milk drinkers. And I wasn't going to become one in my final hours.

I leaned back and stared up at the rooftops as Lokir and Ralof (as his name turned out to be), discussed their hometowns. When Ralof asked Lokir for my name, Lokir replied that I never gave it to him, which was completely untrue. I know because I gave him a false name. Although, introducing myself as Born-Without-Scales from Valenwood may have tipped him off to the fact that that's not actually my name.

It was at that moment when I jumped and twisted around. I could have sworn that I had just seen something on the rooftops. It looked like a person, but…

My head injury must have been worse than I thought. Nothing was there. I shook my head and relaxed. I remained relaxed even when they unloaded us from the wagon and began to send us to be lined up to chop our heads off. Even when Lokir ran. Even when he died.

"Wait, hold on, who are you?" the legion soldier asked, looking me over.

"I don't tell anyone that," I replied winking, as if I could be flirty at all, let alone enough to get out of this. It was no surprise that the soldier just gave me a very confused look and then looked back down at the book.

"I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were a girl," he replied, "Captain, she's not on the list."

"She goes to the block, General's orders," the woman directed sternly.

"I'm sorry Breton. Can you please give me your name so that your remains can be sent somewhere?" he asked.

I sighed. My parents did have the right to know what had happened. It would kill them, but they would know, at least. "I'm Kinzie Vellenward of Riften. My remains should go to my family in Windhelm."

"Very good. Follow the Captain."

For the first time in this whole ordeal, I choked back tears. It was the thought of my father and my brothers. The youngest, Riken, would be turning fifteen in six days. Father would have taken him out hunting on that day for the first time. Instead, they'd be mourning me. I felt guilty that I'd take that from him, and worried that it would throw everything off for him and that he wouldn't be able to start his own family.

Next, I thought of Brynjolf. Brynjolf had become like a father to me, just not quite as old. And Rune. Rune loved me so and probably thought that I was going to marry him. But he was just a child. He was so young and naïve and he'd live his whole life thinking that I got myself killed trying to come back to him. I should have told him I just wasn't going to be his, ever.

A horrendous noise saved me from the tears that burned my eyes, trying to come out. It sounded like thunder, but worse, as if the world was ending or a city was collapsing.

"That's nothing," the General growled, "read then their last rites."

And what was the old man supposed to do? Acknowledging whatever in Oblivion that was would be far worse and much more time consuming than getting on with killing us.

When they called my name, I froze, but only for a moment. After that, my hands began to shake and my eyes burned again. The noise, louder this time, didn't snap me out of it.

I approached the block and the world seemed to be moving in slow motion. I held my breath as I knelt. I watched the headsman hoist the axe up. All I could hear was my heartbeat, like a drum. I squeezed my eyes shut.

When I opened them again, after feeling a sharp jolt (not at all like my neck being sliced apart), I was certain that I had landed in some awful plane of Oblivion. First of all, everything was on fire. Second of all, everyone was either screaming or dead. I was sent into a frenzy of confusion. Someone was calling for me, I could tell that. But I couldn't quite find them. The world was now spinning faster and faster (I guess to make up for the fact that it had frozen not too long ago?) and I was suddenly swept off my feet by someone.

When my ears stopped ringing and my head stopped hurting. I was aware enough to see that I was in a tower, being help by someone.

"MacKinzie? MacKinzie?" someone shook me awake. I looked up into the cold and fierce eyes of the Jarl of Windhelm.

I groaned and muttered, "I don't like you."

"Then I'd say you're perfectly healthy. It's when you start liking me that we'll need to find you help," Ulfric said.

"Ah, so you remember me," I grinned, coming to a bit more. Ralof, who had been holding me set me down and began to speak to Ulfric.

"We need to move," the Jarl said, "Now."

Before anyone could say another word, I was off like a shot up the tower. A soldier was trying to clear away rubble, but was quickly crushed when the wall of the tower exploded in. I pressed myself as tightly as I could against the stone side of the tower and stared into the fiery red eyes of a great black dragon.

"Get down!" I managed to yell to the Stormcloaks at the bottom of the stairs before the dragon let out a huge breath of fire. It exited the tower shortly after that and I stood shaking before I sunk down and hugged my knees tightly to me.

I heard a slight shuffle and then the word "girl." I looked up to see a man in armor that did not include a top, but was made from deer hide. His steel-colored eyes stared deep into my own, as if they were searching into my very soul. His hand was extended to me. "Come."


End file.
